Читать книгу Cast In Courtlight - Michelle Sagara - Страница 10

“What are you not going to do?”

“Severn, I don’t have time for this!” Although Kaylin’s apartment was close to the midwives guild, close to the Ablayne, and reasonably close to the poorer market, it was not all that close to the Halls of Law. Close to the Halls was about three times farther than her lousy pay could stretch; she’d settled for what she could.

“Let me try that again. What are you not going to do?”

“Breathe anymore, if I don’t get there quickly!”

“Third time lucky,” Severn said in a tone of voice best reserved for truculent children. Kaylin bristled.

“I’m not going to offend the Imperial mage. If that’s what’s waiting. I was supposed to have a few days free.” She kicked a rock. It hurt her toe. The hopping around on one foot after the fact didn’t do much for her dignity, either.

But she was off her stride; Severn in the morning, Severn in her small bed, Severn by her side—it was too much to take in with good grace. And as Kaylin and good grace were often on opposite sides of the city, she struggled not to be exceptionally cranky.

But not too hard—cranky was better, in Kaylin’s books, than confused. She was damn tired. If Marcus had half a heart, she’d still be sleeping off the night’s work.

She was dressed in a wrinkled surcoat; she looked like Hawks might if they’d been involved in breaking up a bar brawl. She’d left her best pants in the damn Castle, and her second best, at the moment, had holes in the leg. Which wasn’t her fault; someone trying to cut her knee off could be considered damage taken in the line of duty.

The exceedingly stingy man often referred to as the Quartermaster had other ideas.

Severn frowned.

He had a way of moving that suggested violence without descending to it, but the sudden glint of steel in his hands was not a comforting sign. Rocks and temper forgotten, Kaylin stilled instantly, her hand dropping to a dagger hilt.

“What?”

“Barrani,” he said quietly.

She squinted. The sun was just too damn bright, and her mouth didn’t feel much less like she’d eaten a dead mouse. But as she eased into a fighting stance, she saw the man Severn referred to. Wondered how damn tired she must be to have missed him in the first place: he wore red.

And not a little red; it covered him from shoulder to foot in a long, expensive drape that caught sun and deepened color at the same time. Kaylin had a word for people who could spend money on magical clothing, but it wasn’t one she wanted to use where said person might actually hear it, given how synonymous money and power actually were in this city.

Red. “Arcanum,” she said in a tone that was usually reserved for the more colorful words she knew.

“Lord Evarrim,” Severn added. “He’s persistent.”

“He’s not alone.”

“I’d noticed.”

There were four guards with him, but they were dressed in a less obvious fashion. Where less obvious was armor that glinted beneath translucent surcoats. They wore their hair beneath wide bands, but they wore it Barrani style; capes that fell well past their shoulders. They were, of course, of a height, and they walked in perfect unison.

“You feel like jogging?” Severn asked, without moving.

“Not much.”

He shrugged. “You’ve got thirty seconds.” His words sunk in. “I’m not leaving you here.” “They’re not interested in me.”

Her turn to shrug. “They’re not interested in the Dragon Emperor either, and these are pretty damn crowded streets. I’ll take my chances.”

“Then let’s keep walking, shall we? The Halls are only four blocks away.”

Four long blocks. Kaylin nodded. Whatever animosity there was between them had turned sideways and vanished. They had time to squabble later. For now, they both wore the Hawk, and if Kaylin’s had seen better days, she was still proud of it. It was one of the very few things in her life that she’d worked to earn, and consequently one of the very few things she accorded real respect.

At block two, Lord Evarrim seemed to notice that Kaylin was walking toward him. Kaylin was underimpressed with the quality of his acting; it was good, of course, but it was cheap. Lord Nightshade would never have stooped to pretense.

Then again, he owned any street he walked in, so pretense was kind of superfluous.

“Private,” he said, nodding to Kaylin as if she were just barely worthy of notice. “Corporal.” The rank still rankled. Kaylin came from the Leontine school of acting, but struggled not to let it show anyway.

“Lord Evarrim,” Severn said, bowing. He hadn’t bothered to sheathe his dagger, and Lord Evarrim hadn’t bothered to notice the weapon. His guards were slightly more critical, but as swords were considered more of a public menace than daggers—and gods alone knew why—they didn’t draw weapons in the open streets.

They didn’t have to.

Severn did not come from the Leontine school of acting; he appeared to be both polite and deferential. It was a Barrani trick—the more polite and deferential you looked, the less of either you actually felt.

This, Lord Evarrim did notice.

“I hope the Festival season is uneventful,” Lord Evarrim continued after a minute pause. “And I hope it finds you in good health.”

“And you, Lord Evarrim.”

“You are, I believe, new to the ranks of the Hawks,” the Barrani Lord said. He looked bored, but his eyes were a clear green—a dark green that held hints of blue.

Severn nodded.

“But the private is not. Private Neya.” Blue now, definitely blue. What the Barrani could keep from their faces, they couldn’t keep from their eyes; like Dragons, like Aerians, like Leontines, the color of their eyes told a story. In this case, it was a chilly one.

“Lord Evarrim,” she said, striving to match Severn’s tone.

“I believe you keep company with a member of the High Court.”

“I keep the company of Hawks,” Kaylin said carefully. Not that it’s any of your business.

“Good. See that you continue to do so.” Blue was not Kaylin’s favorite color. He lifted a hand and Severn took a step forward. Four Barrani guards did likewise; the street, where they were standing, became a lot more crowded.

“I wouldn’t, if I were you,” Kaylin said softly.

Severn stepped on her foot.

Lord Evarrim’s smile did not reach his eyes, but his eyes darkened. “The mark is no protection here, little one. Remember that. No Barrani Lord is required to heed the mark of an outcaste.”

“And no outcaste,” Severn replied before she could speak, “is required to heed the law of the Dragon Emperor.”

There was a silence; it followed and engulfed the Hawk’s words.

“We will speak later,” Lord Evarrim said at last. “After the Festival.” He turned and walked away, and red swirled around his feet like blood.

They picked up the pace. “What was that about?” Severn asked her when he was certain the Barrani Lord had passed beyond hearing.

Kaylin, less certain, took her time answering. “I think it was a … threat.”

“Got that,” Severn said. “Why?”

She shrugged. Any answer that made sense wasn’t one she liked. She wondered what Teela was doing. It was better than wondering what was being done to her. But at least she no longer felt tired.

The guards at the front doors were Swords. She recognized them, but she didn’t stop to talk; they were slightly officious men and she was clearly underdressed.

She passed beneath the vaulted ceilings of the Aerie; it was almost empty. One lone Aerian flew across the cavernous space, his gray wings unfolding beneath colored glass. Severn tapped her shoulder gently, and she remembered that she was late.

She made it to the doors, and through them, at her usual speed—a dead run, with a small pause between two Hawks that she did know. They were almost smirking.

“Tanner,” she said to the taller of the two, both humans, “how much trouble am I in?”

He laughed. “It depends.”

“On what?”

“On how much Iron Jaw fancies entertaining an Imperial mage. For an hour.” She cringed.

Iron Jaw, as Marcus was affectionately called—depending on your definition of affectionate—was indeed speaking with a man who wore the robes of the Imperial Magi. They were gray with blue edges, a hood, and an unseemly amount of gold embroidery that faded under dim light.

The fact that the mage wasn’t shouting was a hopeful sign; the fact that Marcus wasn’t puffed out like an angry cat was better. His arms were folded in front of his chest, and he’d chosen to abandon his chair, but that might have been because the paperwork would have hidden him otherwise.

She could hope.

Severn peeled off just before she reached the office, and she didn’t have time to either thank or curse him, which was just as well. She had enough time to try to straighten her tunic as the office staff turned to look at her. Well, most of the office staff. Some of them were too busy to notice anything that didn’t involve a lot of screaming, fire, or blood.

Marcus was, of course, aware of her; he’d probably been aware of her presence before she’d laid eyes on him. Leontines had good hearing and an exceptional sense of smell. But he was being Polite Leontine today.

Which was scary.

She made her way to his desk, and stood there, to one side of the back of an Imperial mage.

“Private,” Marcus said in a rolling growl. Okay, so it wasn’t all good.

“Sergeant Kassan,” she replied. She didn’t snap a salute, but she did straighten up. It added an inch or two to her unimpressive height.

“Good of you to join us. In your absence, I’ve been explaining some of your unfortunate nocturnal habits to our guest.”

The emphasis on the last word was like a warning, but with fangs and fur.

The Imperial mage turned; he was slightly bent, as if age was a burden, and his hair was a fringe of pale white. But his eyes—his eyes were a golden hue, and his smile was a quirk of lips over pale teeth.

She recognized the man. “You—but you’re a—you aren’t a—you—”

“Kaylin is not usually lauded for her ability to give impromptu speeches,” Marcus said dryly. “I believe you’ve met Lord Sanabalis?”

They were sequestered in the West Room. Marcus led them there, opened the door, and held it while Sanabalis walked past him. Kaylin hesitated for just a moment, and then she made her way toward the room’s round table.

“Do not annoy this man,” Marcus said in her ear.

She nodded automatically. Of course, had he told her to stand on her head with her fingers in her ears in that same tone of voice, she would have nodded, as well.

But in this case, the desire to cause annoyance was vanishingly small; Sanabalis was a member of the Dragon Court. She’d seen him only once, and once had been enough.

He waited for her to take a seat.

She waited for him to do likewise.

After a moment, the older man—if that was even the right word—shook his head; his eyes were still gold, which was a good sign. In Dragons.

“Please,” he said, “sit.”

She obeyed, and almost missed the chair.

He chose, tactfully, not to notice this error, and once she’d managed to stay seated, he took a seat. The table between them felt brittle and thin, although a man with an ax would have had some difficulty splitting it. A large man with a large ax; the table in the West Room had been built to last.

“Yes,” he said before she could think of something to say, “I am a member of the Imperial Order of Mages. I am, as you are also aware, a member of the Dragon Court, and I confess I am seldom called away from that court.” His smile was genial, even avuncular. She didn’t trust it.

But she wanted to.

He reached into the folds of his robes; you could have hidden whole bodies in it. And bodies might have been preferable to paper, which was what he pulled out. It hit the table with an authoritative thud.

“You will, of course, be familiar with much of what these documents contain. These,” he added, lifting a half inch’s worth, “are your academic transcripts. With annotations.”

“You’re not supposed to have those—even I don’t have access to—”

“As a man who is considering accepting you as a pupil, I have, of course, obtained permission to access these.”

“Oh.” She hesitated and then added, “What do they say?” “You tell me.”

This wasn’t going the way the previous lessons had. So far, he’d failed to make mention of her “unfortunate beginnings.” Which meant he’d also failed to offend her.

“I’m waiting, Kaylin.”

“Probably … that I’m not very good at classroom work. Academic work, I think they call it.”

He raised a brow. “That was a very short sentence for this much writing.”

“They’re clever, they can say the same thing over and over without using the same word twice.”

At that, he did smile.

Oh, what the hell. “I’m not fond of authority.” “Good.”

“I’m not fond of sitting still.” “True, as well.” “I get bored easily.”

“I believe the phrase was ‘dangerous levels of boredom.’” “I’m not great with numbers.”

“You manage an argument over your pay chit at least once a month.”

“Oh, well, money’s different.” She frowned. “They said that?”

“No. That was private investigation on my part.” “I’m a bit brusque.” “‘Actively rude.’” “I’m blunt.”

“'Arrogant and misinformed.’” “I’m a bit on the, um, assertive side.” “I think the previous statement covered that, as well.” He put the papers down. “The rest?” “Variations?”

“Not precisely.” He leaned forward on elbows he placed, with care, to either side of the documents in question. “You are, according to the teachers who failed you, frustratingly bright. One even used the word precocious. But you have no focus, no ability to pay attention to anything that doesn’t suit you. Would you say that’s fair?”

“No.”

“What would you say, Kaylin?”

“I want to be out there. I want to be on the beat. I want to be doing something. I didn’t sign up with the Hawks to sit still while other people risk their lives—”

He lifted a hand. “I believe that this was also covered. And quoted. At length. Don’t feel a need to revisit it on my behalf. You did manage to learn to read. And to write. In two languages.”

“I had to,” she said woodenly. “The Hawklord—” He raised a white brow.

“Lord Grammayre,” she said, correcting herself, “said I was out if I couldn’t manage that. Because the Laws are written in Barrani—High Barrani—and if I didn’t know them, I couldn’t enforce them.”

“‘Represent them’ were the words he used, I believe. You learned to use weapons.”

She nodded.

“And you were skilled at unarmed combat.”

She nodded again. “Those were useful.”

“History does have its uses.”

“To dead people,” she said sullenly.

“Living people define themselves by their dead.”

She said nothing.

“You almost passed comparative religion. You paid very little attention to Racial classes.” More nothing.

“Very well. Your teachers—Hawks, all—were of a mind to allow you to stretch your wings on the streets. I believe they thought it would knock sense into you.”

“You didn’t come here to discuss my academic record.”

“Actually, Kaylin, I did. I assure you I seldom discuss things that are not of interest to me. That would be called politics,” he added. “And I see that you—”

“Failed that, yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not going anywhere political. If you’ve read the records you know I’m a fiefling. I grew up there. I lived there. I probably broke a hundred laws without knowing I was doing anything illegal.” She had folded her arms across her chest, and she now tightened them. “I was born to the streets. I know them.”

“The streets of Elantra are not the streets of Nightshade. I’m certain your other teachers were willing to accept this rant at face value. Do better with me, Kaylin. I’m old enough to value my time.”

She stood up and started to pace.

“Don’t cling to your ignorance.”

“I’m not.”

“Don’t hide behind it, either.”

“I’m not hiding. Yes, the rest of Elantra is different. But people with power are the same everywhere—here they just have to be more clever about breaking the law. I’m not good with people who are above the law.”

“Or beneath it?”

“No, I understand them.”

“You’ve been willing to learn many things,” he continued, failing to notice that she’d left her seat. “You spent four weeks—without pay—at the midwives guild.”

She stopped moving.

“I told you, I do my homework. You also, I believe, spend time at the foundling halls—”

“Leave the foundling halls out of this.”

“—teaching the orphans. To read. To write. You could barely stand to do this yourself, and I cannot think that this is an overt display of aggression. How, then, do you explain it?”

“I don’t.”

He nodded, as if the answer wasn’t surprising. “Very well. Let us change the course of this discussion somewhat.” “Let’s not.”

He raised a brow over golden eyes. So far, she’d failed to annoy him; there wasn’t even a hint of orange in them.

“I am aware that teaching or learning are not the only things you do, at either the midwives guild or the foundling halls.” He raised a hand. “I am advisor to the Emperor, Kaylin. I am aware of the power you do possess. Sadly, so are the rest of the Hawks. Secrecy is not a skill you’ve learned.”

“Emergencies don’t lend themselves to secrecy.”

“True. Power does. Do you understand that you have power?”

She hesitated; the ground beneath her feet was shifting, and in ways that she didn’t like. She thought better of her need to leave the confinement of the damn chair, and sat again, hard.

“Yes,” he said softly, the tone of his voice changing. “I know what you bear on your arms and legs. I’ve seen the records. I’ve even examined them. I know that you’ve healed the dying, on many occasions. But I also know—”

She held up a hand, palm out, and turned away.

He was a Dragon, through and through. “I also know that you’ve used that power to kill. To kill quickly, yes, but also to kill slowly and painfully. I understand that the Imperial Order of Mages can at times be insular. I understand that their insularity feels like condescension. I will not even argue that it is anything else, in your case.

“But you are playing games with something that you don’t understand.”

“You don’t understand it either.”

“No,” he said without pause. “And it is because it is not understood that it is feared. You’ve treated this as a game, Kaylin Neya. The time for games has passed.” His eyes were still gold, but his lower lids rose, lending opacity to the clarity of color.

“The Dragon Emperor is well aware of what you faced in the fief of Nightshade. We do not name the outcaste, and because we do not, I do not believe it has occurred to the Emperor—or his Court—that you can.”

She frowned.

“Names have power, Kaylin.” “I … know.”

“Good. It is not to light candles that I have come—and yes, I am aware of what you did with the last one—although candles are a focal exercise that even the most junior of mages must master.”

“Why?”

“Because it shows us that they are in control of their power, and not the inverse. And for most, it is a struggle. You would be an object of envy for many of the students that pass through our doors.”

“I don’t want to pass through your doors.”

“No. And I think it best for the Order that you never do. I will be honest with you, because it is something you understand. We—none of us who know—are certain you can be taught. Do you understand this? We do not know what you are capable of yet. It is to test your capabilities that we have been sent.”

“Why didn’t they just—”

“Say so? It may have escaped your notice, but the Imperial Order of Mages is not accustomed to explaining themselves to a young, undereducated girl.”

“You are.”

“I have less to lose,” he replied quietly. “And I am aware, as perhaps they were not, of how much you have to lose, should we fail. Or rather, should you fail.”

This caught her attention and dragged it round in a death grip.

“Yes,” he continued in that serene voice. “Should you fail, you will be called up before the Dragon Emperor. The fact that you are, without question, loyal to the Hawks has caused the Emperor—twice—to stay his hand. I cannot think of a person for whom he has stayed his hand three times. If you cannot be trained, if you cannot learn to abide these classroom chores, these boring hours spent staring at an unlit candle wick, you will be removed from the ranks of the Hawks.”

“Will I still be alive?”

Sanabalis did not answer the question.

“Can I ask a different question?”

“You are free to ask anything.”

“Who else has he stayed his hand with twice?”

Sanabalis’s frosted brows drew closer together. “Pardon?”

“You said you couldn’t think of a person to whom he’d granted clemency three times. That implies that you can think of a person to whom he’s granted it twice. I mean, besides me.”

At that, the Dragon laughed. The sound almost deafened her, and she was glad she was in the West Room; nothing escaped its doors. “You are an odd woman, Kaylin Neya. But I think I will answer your question, since it is close to my heart.” She didn’t ask him which heart; she understood it was metaphor.

“Lord Tiamaris of the Dragon Court.”

Her jaw almost dropped; it probably would have if it hadn’t been attached to the rest of her face. Tiamaris, honorary Hawk, was so … prim and proper it was hard to imagine he could ever do anything to offend his Lord.

“Lord Tiamaris was the last student I chose to accept,” he added. “At my age, students are seldom sent to me.”

“Why?”

“I am the Court of last resort, Kaylin. If I judge a mage to be unteachable, or unstable, no one else will take him.” “Because he’s dead?” Again, the Dragon was silent.

“In your case,” Sanabalis continued smoothly, after the momentary silence, “you could have offended a full quarter of the Magi before you reached me. But because of the unusual nature of your talents, that was not considered a viable option.” He reached into his robes and pulled out a candle.

She wilted visibly.

“This is like, very like, Barrani,” he told her as he set the candle on a thin base and placed it exactly between them. “If you fail to learn it, you lose the Hawks.”

“And my life.”

“I am not convinced that they are not one and the same. I will take you,” he added quietly. “If you are wearing your bracer, you may remove it.”

Kaylin froze. Well, everything about her did but her eyes; they flicked nervously down to her wrist. Which was just wrist. The artifact, golden and jeweled, that could somehow dampen all of her magical abilities? Not there. She had a good idea where it actually was, too. “I’m not wearing it.”

A pale brow rose. “I believe the Emperor’s orders in that regard were quite clear.”

She swallowed. Being in trouble was something that she lived with; she always was. Getting the Hawklord into Imperial trouble was something she would almost die to avoid.

And Sanabalis was good; he didn’t even make the threat. She would have to watch herself around him, inasmuch as that was possible.

“I had to take it off,” she told him, swallowing. “Last night.” It wasn’t technically true, but it would have to do.

“Ah. The midwives?” His eyes were gold; one brow was slightly above the other, but he chose to accept her words at face value.

“They called me in. I can’t do anything when I’m wearing that bracer. I certainly can’t deliver a baby that’s—”

He lifted his hands. “I am squeamish by nature, I would prefer you leave the feminine nature of your nocturnal activities unspoken.”

She wanted to ask him to define squeamish, but thought better of it.

“Where is it now?”

“At home.”

“Whose home?”

She cursed. “Is there anything about me you didn’t ‘investigate’”

“No.”

And sighed, a deep, short sound that resembled a grunt. “Severn’s. Corporal.”

He nodded. “Very good. Get it back. I will overlook its absence, since you wouldn’t be wearing it during these lessons anyway.” He paused. His eyes were still liquid gold, and his expression had never wavered; there was some deep sympathy lurking in the folds of his face that she didn’t understand.

And she wanted it.

“Lord Grammayre has been very cooperative, he has aided me in every conceivable way in my investigations. I believe he would like you to survive these trials. Inasmuch as the Lord of Hawks can afford to be, he is fond of you. And inasmuch as it is wise, he does trust you.”

And you, old man? she thought, staring at the candle that was unremarkable in every way. Dull, white, mostly straight, with a small waxed wick, it stood in the center of the table.

“Not yet,” he replied. “And if you wish to keep your thoughts to yourself, you will learn to school your expression. I’m old, and given to neither sentiment nor tact. If I trust you, in the end, it will because you’ve earned it.

“And I understand you, Kaylin Neya. You value nothing that you have not earned. You want it, covet it, hold it in some regard—but you don’t value it.” His face lost its perpetual smile, and his lower lids fell, exposing his eyes again. “Begin with the shape of fire,” he told her quietly.

What the hell shape did fire have, after all?

It was going to be a long lesson.

Or it should have been.

But the West Room had a door, and when the door swung wide, Kaylin jumped out of her chair. Literally. She had a dagger out of its sheath, and she was moving to put the table between herself and whatever it was that had slammed that door into the wall.

Her brain caught up with her body, and she forced herself to relax, or to mimic it. It was hard when the door was full of bristling Leontine.

Sanabalis, however, had not moved an inch. As Kaylin stilled, as she took in Marcus in full fury, he lifted his chin an inch or two. “Sergeant Kassan?” The inquiry was about as friendly as a rabid feral, but a whole lot politer.

“You’re wanted,” Marcus said to Kaylin, ignoring the mage he’d told her not to offend. “Tower. Now.”

“The Hawklord?”

“No, the tooth fairy. Go.”

“I believe the lesson will have to wait,” Sanabalis said, rising.

On any other day, that would have been a good thing. But Kaylin had to walk past Marcus, and Marcus seemed disinclined to actually move his bulk out of the door. His fangs were prominent.

“Marcus?” she dared as she approached him.

He turned red eyes on her, and she flinched—which was always a bad thing to do around a Leontine. But his eyes lost their deep flare of red as he saw her expression. “No,” he said curtly, the single word a raw growl. “It’s not about you. Yet.” He stepped aside then, and she ran past him. The office seemed quiet, which was usually a bad sign—but not when Marcus was in a mood. When that happened, the word that best described the room was empty. This wasn’t, quite.

She caught Caitlin’s expression; it was frozen on her face. The rest of her had retreated to a safe distance. It was an art that Kaylin could appreciate and couldn’t master; she didn’t try.

“How bad is it?” she asked.

Caitlin only pointed to the far door, the tower door, and shook her head.

Kaylin practically flew up the stairs. Fear did that; it shoved exhaustion into a small corner for later use. Given the previous night, it was going to see a lot of use.

The door, thank whatever gods the Hawklord worshipped—if he did—was already open; he was waiting for her.

Standing beside him was a tall, elegant stranger in a fine, dark dress the color of mythic forest. She wore a small tiara, with an emerald that would beggar small houses to own, and her slender arms were gloved in a pale green that echoed the dress.

Her hair, Barrani black, was loose; it fell past Kaylin’s immediate vision. Barrani hair wasn’t worth noticing; eyes were. Hers were blue. But they were an odd shade of blue, not the dark, deep sapphire that marked so many of the Barrani; these were almost teal.

Kaylin couldn’t recall seeing that shade before, and it made her nervous.

The Hawklord, however, was grim, and that was perversely calming. Kaylin started to bow, and he cut her off with a gesture. Formality was out.

“Kaylin,” he said, his voice a shade grimmer than his expression, “your services are required.”

She stared at him blankly. Something about the woman was familiar. Something—“Teela?”

“She hasn’t gotten any faster on the uptake, has she?” Teela said to the Hawklord.

“Nor has she become more punctual. Teela will take you where you need to go.” He paused. “Do exactly as she says. No more. No less.”

“Where are we going?”

“Definitely not faster,” Teela said, her Elantran jarringly at odds with her appearance. “We go,” she added, sliding into High Barrani, “to the Court of the castelord.”

“But you said—”

“I know what I said. But we don’t have time.” “What—you don’t need me as a Hawk.” “Smart girl. Slow, but smart.” “Teela—what’s happened?”

“There has been a minor difficulty at Court,” Teela replied, reaching out for Kaylin’s arm. Kaylin was too stunned to move out of the way. “If we do not repair to the Court in time, it will become a major difficulty.”

“How major?”

“War.”

That was major. Kaylin looked down at her pants, hating Nightshade.

“Severn is waiting below,” the Hawklord told her quietly. “I’ve summoned a carriage. It’s an Imperial carriage.”

Teela began to drag her out of the tower room, but the Hawklord had not yet finished. “Go quickly, and return quickly. Do not leave Severn’s side.”